Dogs Like Us
by ZanzibarTheGreat
Summary: They're mercenaries; a bunch of disposable dogs to the government. But no one could foresee the hell these two mercenary dogs would raise, and how they'd turn the tides of war in Ustio's favor.
1. Chapter 1: Collision

_Alrighty. First things first, this is my first Ace Combat fanfic. I've had this idea for...oh, goodness, a few years (like, when I first played the game in '07), but I never had the skills to actually write something like this. Hopefully it's not too much of a fail._

_Also, you'll obviously see that Cipher is now female. We'll see how this goes._

_Additionally, I'm not a military expert. So, forgive me for any inaccurate depictions and whatnot. And the life behind the scenes on base is probably horribly inaccurate, but bear with me. It's fiction, anyway._

_Lastly, yes, this is more or less a novelization of the game, but I'll try to throw in a lot more than just combat dialogue. You all have probably played the game twenty times over, so you know what happens during the battles! It'd be just plain boring if that's all I did._

* * *

"_It's pretty ironic, Buddy. Couple of dogs like us fightin' the last battle."_

Chapter One: Collision

The reception for the new crew of mercenaries at Valais Air Base was decent. In most occasions, the new coming mercenaries would receive a craft and a hot meal, and there was minimal fuss created over them. "Actual" pilots wouldn't pass them second glances, and took little time to socialize with the different breed. Staff hardly considered them, minus when they sent them up into the skies. They were oddballs. Thrown into the skies because Ustio's air force couldn't support a large enough quantum of full-fledged pilots yet.

For Valais, the place was running amuck with mercenaries. Only two squadrons consisted of kids who had actually graduated from the air force academy in Directus, the rest were green-horn mercenaries that took a wad of cash and a room as their invitation. Government officials called it the "Dog Pound" after the nickname mercenaries (dubbed "dogs" or "hounds") had taken on during the time.

Here, in the wasteland of the Tyrann Mountains, was where I found myself.

From word of mouth, the rumors of tensions between Belka and the neighboring countries were being passed. No one knew the liability of these rumors, but they came as no surprise as the economically-crippled Belka wavered on the edge. There was an open invitation to all pilots with more than two years experience to join Ustio's "Unofficial Assets." In real terms, if we could fly a jet, they'd pay us. We wouldn't receive benefits of a full-fledged Air Force pilot, but we'd get a craft, a home and money in our pockets. We would be mercenaries.

I had only completed three years of schooling at the Directus Air Force Academy. Mounting tensions and personal questions drove me to accept the offer, and I received a message three days later telling me I'd be shipped out to Valais by the end of the week.

From the time I stepped off the plane onto the runway, with about a dozen other guys fresh out of Directus, I knew I didn't belong. Who was I trying to fool? A kid didn't belong here, much less a girl.

_Keep your chin up,_ I growled to myself.

I shivered, hugging my jacket close to my body. It was bitterly cold, and a frigid wind gusted against us as we all scrambled to grab our belongings and file towards the base. The sky was overcast, and it looked like it was ready to snow. There mountains were a frozen hell.

The staff hustled our group through the motions. Tomorrow would be full of regulations and rules, and more information would be shoved down our throats in twenty-four hours than in three years of school. Right now, though, they just wanted to get us fed and situated.

The women's wing was slightly neglected. I was led from the tarmac to the bunkhouse by a tall, slender woman named Amelia Brindle. She had a toothy smile, and her hands felt cold when I shook them, but there was a fire of life in her brown eyes. The way she said "Welcome to Valais Air Base" made me think she was a trained tour guide, used to carting the band of fresh-faced mercenaries around for their first few days.

"This is where you'll live," Brindle said, leading me down a corridor. "This used to be the men's wing until about ten years ago, when they expanded. The girls got the leftovers, as usual."

I frowned. "Tell me the facilities aren't ten years old..."

Brindle laughed, shaking her head. "No, they've updated things here. You'll come to appreciate the humble lifestyle of this place."

"I guess it's the only thing to appreciate out here, huh?" I mumbled. The weather sure as hell wasn't the highlight of the trip.

Brindle halted at a door and grabbed the key dangling from the bracelet around her wrist. She fussed with the lock, before pushing the door open and revealing my room. It was bland, to say the least. Off-white walls and blue carpet greeted me, and the only pieces of furniture were two beds and a dresser.

"Usually, you'd be sharing a room, but there aren't too many other females on base. You'll meet Sunstrike sometime later; she's a friend of mine..." Brindle was explaining, but I had already zoned out. I dumped my luggage on one of the beds, sitting down on the mattress in deep thought. Brindle kept talking, placing a key on the dresser and some other papers.

My eyes wandered to the window in the back of the room, overlooking the vast expanse of the Tyrann Mountains. Big ashen clouds had settled in, and diminutive snowflakes were cascading from the heavens. I nearly shivered at the thought of being outside in the bitter cold, and silently accepted that I would have to get used to it. Early January meant that winter was far from over here at Valais Air Base. And I was here for God-knows-how-long.

"Tomorrow will be a much more interesting day," Brindle was saying, though I hardly caught her words. She mentioned something about getting a plane assignment this week, and hopefully starting work. She even mentioned the things she knew about me from Directus. I guess my flight instructor had put in good words about me.

I thought about Directus, and wistfully missed it. The place had become my home when I started attending the academy three and a half years ago. Even on my weeks of leave, I remained solely in Directus, with the exception of a few road trips here and there. The Ustian capital was where I belonged, and the academy was all I had. I had nearly cut myself off from my family. Even when I signed up to become a mercenary, I hadn't told them. I sent them a letter the day before I shipped to Valais, explaining myself and giving them a new address.

There was a pit in my stomach when I thought of them. Mom and dad, and my little brother, Mark, and my sister, Melanie. They were thousands of miles away, unsure where their eldest daughter and sister was. Joni hardly wrote home. Joni had only come to visit once in the last three years. Joni was a horrible family member. And now Joni had essentially quit the academy and joined the bloody lot of mercenaries.

Some kid.

Expressing a sigh, I noticed Brindle's words were slowing as she observed my lack of focus. When I gazed at her, she smiled, delighted to have reclaimed my focus.

"There's about an hour before chow time. Want to walk around base and get to know the surroundings?" Brindle quizzed.

I smiled. "As long as that means we don't spend too much time outside..."

Brindle stifled a laugh. "Oh, trust me, I hate the weather here too."

She walked me around the facilities. Outside, she pointed out the hangars and storage garages, but we mainly kept inside. We passed by my fellow Directus friends, whom I offered soft smiles and a nod before continuing on our tour. They, too, were receiving the grand tour of the base. I felt as though I hardly knew them, even though many of them I had spent the last three and a half years flying with. Today, it seemed like we were strangers.

We were rounding a corner after visiting the briefing room, when I found myself colliding with another pilot. Completely shocked, I stumbled backwards and had to use the wall to support my balance. Eyes wide, I propped myself up with the wall.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologized immediately.

The man I had collided with had stepped back, eyebrows furrowed and brown eyes blazing. For a swift second, he looked angered. But then he mumbled something before striding off.

I stood there, my jaw dropping slightly. His muffled words had hardly accounted for an apology, and he hardly even looked me in the eye. Was that the likes of pilots here at Valais? Who forgot to teach the manners?

"That was Larry Foulke...he's one of the veteran mercenaries here," Brindle muttered to me, her eyes following the man down the corridor. There was a tone of annoyance, but at the same time respect, for the man who had nearly plowed me over.

Grunting, I cast a glance over my shoulder as the man disappeared behind a door. "He's just the epitome of manners, huh?"

"Foulke is...bitter..." Brindle explained with a frown. "There's been a lot of unanswered questions since Booth was shot down last month, and I don't think he forgives himself for losing Booth."

"So the rumors are true?" I breathed.

Brindle nodded. "James Booth and Foulke were on a routine border patrol. God knows why they had to go so far west, but they encountered an unidentified aircraft and flew to intercept. The bastard fired on them and took Booth out."

My jaw tightened.

"God knows what's going on. The government has been hush-hush about it, and officials here will give us mumbles as answers," Brindle grumbled. "And when we lose a pilot to some unidentified aircraft, we get 'it might have been a rogue plane' shit. Rogue plane my ass. No one just buys a million-dollar aircraft and shoots down Ustio planes for fun."

Brindle sighed heavily, scratching her head.

"Anyway," she transitioned, "the mess hall is open. Let's get you some food."

Following Brindle down the labyrinth of halls, we finally came upon the centralized room of the base. The mess hall. The place was a hub of activity, with pilots grabbing meals and plopping down at the tables. It buzzed like a beehive, and the signs of tension did not exist within these walls.

Getting into line, Brindle suddenly waved at an approaching pilot. He was a tall man, with blue eyes and brown hair. A broad smile was plastered to his face as he neared, and he clasped Brindle on the back.

"Good evening," he greeted, his eyes turning upon me.

Brindle was quick to introduce. "Joni, this is Ian McLellan. Ian, meet one of the newbies, Joni Burghardt."

"Hello," I greeted shyly.

"How was your day, McLellan?" Brindle prompted.

"Nothing like a day of border patrol," McLellan responded with a laugh. "Things have been swarming since Booth's death last month. But we haven't seen a damn thing since the incident..."

Brindle frowned softly. "One can only hope it was a freak squirmish..."

"I'd rather not launch into war," McLellan agreed.

Walking through the line, I listlessly filled my tray with food while McLellan and Brindle exchanged a few words. I could see McLellan flashing me a few glances, but I brushed off the incident and chalked it up as natural curiosity from him. I was a new kid, and everyone wanted to know who and what I was.

Following Brindle, we made our way across the mess hall towards a table in the corner. One lone man sat at the table, already picking at his meal. He was an average looking fellow, blond hair and a sturdy stature. Upon hearing the drum of feet against the floor, the man looked up and nodded curtly in greeting to Brindle and McLellan.

I immediately recognized the man from earlier, who hadn't apologized for running into me.

This wasn't going to be good.

"Foulke, this is Joni Burghardt. She's one of the mercenary babies from Directus," Brindle introduced, setting down her food on the table and plopping down next to the man. "They called her 'Bloodbath' back there, because every time she flew, she turned things into chaos in her favor."

I felt a creep of red come to my face as I fumbled to sit down across the table from Brindle and Foulke. Swallowing, my tongue felt swollen in my mouth as Brindle continued to tell Foulke every last bit of information to the man. My eyes fell down to the food on my tray, trying to avoid the level, stony gaze Foulke was giving me. I could tell he was analyzing me, trying to size up who I was.

"I bet you were something back in Directus," Foulke commented suddenly, interrupting Brindle.

My eyes snapped up, and I gazed back at the pilot in front of me. My stomach churned on the inside as I discovered that his words were mocking, although masked behind cool genuineness. But his eyes deceived him. I saw the fire there. I saw that he was toying with my emotions, trying to uncover and exploit against my weakness.

I wasn't going to get swept off my feet like that. I hadn't hauled my ass out to Valais in the middle of winter to be buried alive by people like Foulke.

I gritted my teeth, offering the man a shrug. "It doesn't take a genius to fly a plane," I remarked coolly.

But that was the set-up he wanted.

"You're telling me," he replied tartly, giving me a nod.

This was the game he wanted to play. There were pilots like him back in Directus; the ones that wanted to build you up and get you talking, only so they could tear you down and mock you. I wasn't a fool. The game was nothing new to me. Instead of letting Foulke have the possession of the ball, I simply threw in the towel. You can't beat me if I didn't participate.

Usually, if you didn't play along, the guys would leave you be and move on to another target. But, for some reason, Foulke didn't. Maybe it was because he was a bit older than the academy boys, and a bit more charismatic. Maybe it was because he had something pitted against me, and he wasn't backing away from his prey.

"So why did you leave your comfortable Directus, Burghardt? If you were such a stellar student, why not complete your schooling?" Foulke assaulted with a smirk on his face.

I saw Brindle flash me a glance. Her face had paled slightly, and she looked like she wanted to rush in to my rescue, but refrained from doing so.

"Besides, the officials like their 'actual' pilots better. Those kids get better pay and a more gold stars for their duties," Foulke continued to prod.

He kept going, too.

"Graduating from there, you could bring a whole lot home to your family. But, a few months away from completing, and you throw in the towel and sign-up to become a mercenary. Who the hell are you trying to impress here?"

I had crossed my arms over my chest, and kept my gaze collided with Foulke's. There was a fire ignited in me, boiling my blood and leaving my body rigid. I refrained from lashing out, trying to keep my cool against Foulke. I needed to let go of my anger.

Breathing deeply, I mustered all of the strength to respond in a cool manner, "What are you trying to get at here?"

"Mercenaries are misfits. We don't belong in the skies with those aces, but we still haul our asses up there and make a place, whether anyone likes it or not. And before you think you'll become anything special out here, you be reconsider yourself," Foulke explained, a smart-ass smirk tearing across his face. The man was made rigid with his pride, bursting at the seams despite the cruel words he tagged to the duty. It was a labor of love, as some called it. Something you hated to love, but it defined you. It possessed you. "It's kids like you, coming in with the ideals implanted in them at the academy, who expect a stamp of affirmation and honor."

There was a cloud of tension in the air as I gazed evenly back at Larry Foulke, my jaw clenched, gaze unwavering. Inside, there was a plethora of things I wanted to say back at the man, mostly along the lines of "Shut up" and "No one gives a fuck." But, I kept my mouth shut.

Brindle and McLellan both shifted uneasily around us. I saw Brindle open her mouth, as though she wanted to hop to a different subject to save us. But Larry cast her a glance, brown eyes narrowed and jaw taut. She quickly ducked away, playing with the food on the tray.

"What does the title 'mercenary' mean to you?" Foulke asked, his voice nothing more than a hiss across the table.

I gazed back at him, my eyes flickering with a wave of hunger and rage. "It means that I'm no more a dog than you. And we're both going to hell."

Shoving my tray at him, I got up and strode off.

* * *

_And there we have it. Chapter one. A bit long, and I felt it was a little tedious...but you have to shovel the introductions out of the way. There's a lot of things that will be explained later on, so hold on tight! And it will get more interesting! Feel free to review, just be nice on me, I'm a bit new to this fanfiction stuff! :)_


	2. Chapter 2: Tempest

_Thanks to the very useful reviews for chapter one! To answer some questions, although I know the female main pilot idea is very much overused, it's still worth a shot. And a bend in the actual ACZ story is kind of the point of fanfiction :) So, I'm not planning on warping the absolute path of the war, but there are some differences. That just makes stories all the more interesting, no?  
_

_ Sorry this update came much later that I expected. Most of it was finished, but I didn't get around to filling in gaps and revising until recent. And right now, it's more of a filler chapter (which I hate them but they're necessary sometimes). Apologies.  
_

Chapter Two: Tempest

**January 27th, 1995**

A blistering cold wind beat against my face as I stumbled into the arctic evening. My bare hands searched for warmth, planting themselves into the pockets of my jacket and curling into fists, nails digging into my palms. I shuddered, a great, big sigh that made my body tremor against the howling winds. My skin was already going numb on my face, and my initial thoughts wanted to drive me back into the safety of the building.

But, I relented. For some reason, I felt liked I needed to be out here.

My feet tracked against the snow-coated paths of the air base, leaving faint imprints in the snow that were soon swept away by the wind. I felt like my existence was being erased. And I liked it that way. Maybe it was better off if I just vanished from Valais. Who would care, anyway? Not these people. Not the government. Hell, not even my family. I wouldn't be missed.

At the thought, I laughed. My lips curled, releasing the sound into the night, losing it in the tempest. What a lonely fellow, I mused to myself.

The base at night was desolate a lonely. The only thing alive was snowflakes dancing in front of the security lights that dimly illuminated the military establishment. I crept along the shadows, skulking along in the cold.

What am I doing? Why was I here? The doubts drove deeper, their nasty claws dragging across my skin and making me miserable. My heart felt heavy in my chest as I pondered these things, kicking at the piles of snow at my feet, trying to bite back a bitter wave of frustration that burned in my eyes. I was becoming pathetic. I was becoming weak.

But I wasn't going to go soft because I couldn't answer someone's questions. And how dare that man toy with my emotions.

_Don't be angry at him for your weakness,_ my mind scolded.

Coming to one of the many hangars, I rested my back against one of the walls sheltered from the wind. My nose was beginning to run, and most of the circulation to my fingers was prickling away. I ran the palms of my hands together, trying to create a bit of warmth as I stood out here, letting the evening absorb me. My fingers shook, tracing against the creases of my hands, until they ran to the wrists of my coat, sinking underneath the warm layer of clothing.

My left hand found it. A series of ghosts upon my right wrist.

I rubbed my thumb across the scar tissue, feeling the slight bump across the smooth skin of my wrist. My lips frowned, mind tracking back to the days when this injury had been inflicted. Pressing my thumb down firmer in the spot, part of me could still feel the pain resonating from that time. A cold swipe of a blade, and the warm prickling as agony rippled from the torn skin fibers. Quickly and painful, but it clouded what truly pained me.

Remembering the swab of alcohol and the pressure of gauze upon the wounds, my stomach churned at the thought of that sick game. As quickly as I inflicted myself, I mended myself. Back then, I felt like I was patching up the real issues of my life, but in reality, they still existed.

My mind snapped from the fading echoes of my past, and I let my hands slide out of my sleeves. I was better now. Those days were long gone. I had gotten past that obstacle in my life. Cutting never solved anything. Cutting was only ever the weak way out.

I wasn't weak. At least not anymore.

And if I had to raise hell to prove that to people, I would.

* * *

**Solo Wing Pixy**

"You're an ass," Brindle grumbled as the girl got up and stormed off.

Casting a glance at my friend, I offered her a nonchalant shrug. Did anybody expect me to be kind and courteous to the newbies? Life in general didn't extend hands and shake them with you. Life was a bitch. And being a mercenary was a bitch, as well. Cuddling and coddling fresh mercenaries wouldn't make them into warriors. You had to dog them. They needed to know right off the bat that this service was miserable and fucked up.

"I'm honest," I responded to Brindle.

There was a crease that formed across her lips, and she released an exasperated sigh. I knew she couldn't disagree, not with me, but that didn't change her mind about the current situation. I guessed she thought the girl was a decent being. But was I supposed to care about the opinions of others? If that girl wanted to me to believe she was good, she would have to prove herself. So far, she had racked up a score of 0.

I saw McLellan flash me a look, shaking his head to himself and shuffling around some peas on his plate. What? Did he fancy that Joni girl too? Ian was typical for chasing after pretty girls, though. Wouldn't shock me if he sided with the new girl just because she had a cute demeanor that McLellan liked. They were all fools.

Rolling my eyes, I stood up. "I'm done," I grumbled, grabbing the leftovers of my tray and disposing them into the garbage.

"Where are _you_ going?" McLellan quizzed.

I shrugged. "I could use a walk."

* * *

**Joni**

It was time to go inside.

Journeying through the darkness, tracing the phantoms of my former footsteps back towards the main building, I shivered. My new bed would be inviting. Maybe even a shower, a warm one if the facilities permitted. Fantasizing on the remainder of my night, I was almost to the entrance when I noticed my entrance would not be easy. There was someone near the door, a person out for an evening smoke.

Lo and behold, it was Larry Foulke.

His silhouette leaned against the wall of the building, the faint ember from his cigarette a beacon. Halting, I contemplated vanishing back into the night. The only entrance into the building, without walking around half of it, was there. And, conveniently, this man had plopped himself there like some guardian of the door.

_Don't be a coward_, I thought. Drawing in a cold breath, I forged forward.

He heard the crunch of snow underneath my boots, and he looked up. In the dim light of the overhead lamp, he recognized who I was. I saw his eyebrows scrunch and the shadows in his face deepen. We weren't going about this well.

"Look what the dog dragged in," his voice broke through a pause in wind gusts.

I pursed my freezing lips, growling under my breath. "Oh, fuck off."

"You're too polite," he sarcastically quipped.

Jamming my hands further into my pockets, I refrained from replying back. A rage built up within my blood, and I knew what I wanted to say was only going to make matters worse. And the situation had already started off as fucked, anyway.

"So tell me, are you trying to make a point to mommy and daddy? Was the academy not your decision, so you decided to go completely opposite and sign up as a mercenary?" He suddenly asked. His questions were complex, but he was driving for the answer he desired back in the cafeteria. He wanted to know my weakness. "Oh, or maybe it's an act of rebellion. Your parents are the stay-safe, duck-and-cover type, but you won't settle for that. Is that it?"

I bit my lip, glaring at him.

"Such a weak backbone to becoming a mercenary..."

Suddenly, I snapped. I wasn't going to let him bully me a moment longer.

"You don't know my story," I snarled, "and you sure as hell have no right to judge me. My reasons for being here are my reasons. Leave me be," I hissed. Brushing past him, my shoulder smacked into his and I allowed my force to knock him off balance. For an additional huff, I slammed the door behind me.

The storm wasn't over between us.

* * *

**Solo Wing Pixy**

If there was one thing this girl couldn't do, it was make friends. In my mind, she had already made two offenses and was setting fire to a bridge she hadn't even built. How the hell she expected to survive on this base by starting an argument with the most popular pilot was beyond me. But she had made her own decisions. She'd eventually comprehend the consequences.

Yet, despite this, I felt a pit of respect for her. She wasn't going to take to brown-nosing. I had a group of newbies that practically swooned over my existence, but she wasn't going to stand for that.

She was different.

And I was intrigued to what she would become.


	3. Chapter 3: Overthinking

_Like I promised, an update sooner than later! With this update comes free cookies...actually, I lied. I can't ship you all free cookies, but you do deserve them for being nice and reading this fanfic! Anyhow, enjoy the update...and I'm sorry if I made you guys hungry with my false promises._

_To answer a few common things I've read from my reviews: 1) I understand Pixy is much different than you are used to-that's simply my creative spin on things; this is the glory of fanfiction, 2) I'm glad you're hungry for some answers, but I've posted two chapters, so a lot of explanations will be coming, just be patient! and 3) I promise you will get answers! And thank you for the reviews. Some of you have helped me prioritize information so that I can convey this story clearly!_

_Without further adieu..._

* * *

Chapter Three: Overthinking

The next morning dawned grey and dismal as I hauled my body out of bed. It was only 5:30 am, and it was still pitch black outside in the late January morning. Everyone else wouldn't be up until closer to 7am, but I wanted to get up. I decided to go and sit in the lounge, maybe stare out the window and sort through my thoughts. Laying in bed, staring blindly at the ceiling all night was too tedious. I needed a change of scene.

Slipping out of the women's wing, I went to the lounge and found a seat near the corner of the room by a wide window. The corner was cold, but I didn't mind it. I could see the runway from here, and the soft, displaced snowflakes falling from the sky. The biggest part of the snowstorm had passed, and all was calm. The serenity was almost palpable in the air.

Admiring the scene, I gave a soft exhale. This was home. For how long, I was unaware. I could be here months or years; I was unsure. I couldn't really go back to Directus, and home was out of question. Maybe I'd end up a wanderer. But only time could tell. So far, I wasn't welcomed here with open arms from everyone.

My mind wandered to the occurrences of yesterday, a feeling of dread and frustration washing over me. Larry Foulke was sure to make my life here miserable.

"Don't feel too bad," Brindle had told me last night. She had stopped by my room before heading to bed, trying to make reason to Foulke's tart attitude. "I thought he was going to make some kid cry earlier. He likes to prey on the newbies."

Oh good, I wasn't the only one.

But this was more than newbie initiation.

There was something he was trying to get at with me. Like he had decided there was something _off_ about me. Did he see something I so desperately tried to hide? Maybe he just knew I had something to hide, and, thus, he exploited against me. Maybe he was just trying to get the upperhand on me. War, whether it was on the battlefield of a nation or the battlefield of the mind, was relentless. Enemies always sought for a weak spot. And Foulke was searching for mine.

Maybe, I hoped, he'd leave me alone after a while. One gets tired beating at a wall that doesn't collapse. As long as I stood strong, Foulke would eventually be bored by me.

But what if I was crippled? For so long, I had stood strong against the hell of my past. Between facing it, at the current time, and then trying to shake the demons that clung to my back. I was stronger than most, but I wondered if my weak spot did exist. Could someone find the right thing to kick, and injury me? Would the never-say-die pilot, Joni Burghardt, the one could out-maneuver even her instructors in the air, get shot down on the warzone of mentality?

My stomach churned at the thought. If my mentality wasn't strong in a common setting, then I could be thwarted in the air. I needed to buck-up. I needed to stop thinking like this.

_Use Foulke to make you stronger. Don't let him cripple you_, I thought. _You beat dad, you can beat him._

My skin crawled at the sudden thought.

Dad.

I had tried to eradicate his essence from my mind. Even when I considered my family, dad always seemed like a black haze in the image. A shroud of evil. Something that I wish would just dissipate into the hollow, empty caverns of my mind. He was, perhaps, the root of all of my problems. Incomplete issues that I tried to solve by coming here. I thought running from my problems had been the solution, but they obviously still haunted me.

Shaking my head, I pulled my knees up to my chest and set my chin on top of them. Releasing a heavy sigh, my mind inevitably sunk into the darkness of the things I desperately tried to forget.

And I remembered.

* * *

"_Mel."_

_My voice called into the inhabited walls of her room. Although she was asleep, Melanie was always a light sleeper. A pin-drop could wake her up. I could hear her stir under the sheets, her lungs exhaling, perturbed to be roused from her slumber._

_My lips felt like sandpaper against one another as I searched for the strength to say the next couple of words. The air felt harsh against my throat when I said it:_

"_I'm leaving."_

_Melanie abruptly sat straight up in bed, gazing through the darkness at me. I was leaning against her doorframe, body heavy, and flesh trembling. I had worked myself into a cold sweat, and my mind was on the verge of tears. My shallow panting echoed through the silent room. _

"_What the hell, Joni..." Melanie uttered, her arm stretched to find the bedside lamp. Light flooded through the darkness, landing on my poor frame. There was blood dried to the base of my nose. I had wiped most of it away, but there were still traces of the mess from earlier. And then there were the bandages. The ones on my arms. Melanie practically ignored the swollen nose, and immediately glued her eyes to my arms._

_She kicked her bed sheets off, rising from her bed. "Oh, god, Jo..."_

_My cutting started around the same time that dad started to change. It had been true culture shock for daddy's little girl when daddy lashed out at everyone for their mistakes. When daddy no longer offered words of comfort and encouragement, but instead spoke words of rigid anger and discouragement, I had been destroyed. Unable to cope with the emotional pain and confusion, I had resorted to the blade to divert my mind from _

_the issue._

_That had been early my freshmen year. Looking back now, I had seen his metamorphosis had occurred years prior, but when his distance and lack of tolerance sudden erupted into cruel anger and rash actions, it had stung deep. For the whole family, it had knocked us off balance. For me, it had truly destroyed me._

_Melanie came over and grabbed me in an embrace, holding my tear-stained face to her chest and wrapping her arms around me. I erupted into a sob, letting the tears return to my eyes. Melanie maneuvered us to her bed, sitting me down and pulling my arms out to observe the new damage. There were old scars riddled here and there. Some cuts had been deeper or longer, and some cuts had healed and disappeared. But, the emotional and mental pain remained, despite the truest intentions of cutting._

"_Joni...oh Joni..." Melanie tersely murmured. She was fighting her own emotions, watching as the family lived bursting at the seams, and observing the pitfalls of her older sister. _

_Finally, I found my voice again, "I'm leaving, Mel."_

_Her green eyes rose to meet mine. She was emotionless. I knew her mind raced to accept the concept, searching for a reason or two to implore me to stay. But she knew. And I knew. I could not stay here. I could not rot in between these walls of hell any longer._

_Last week had been my graduation from high school, and my aspirations were simply to escape this place. Melanie knew it was coming, I had told her before that I was leaving as soon as I finished school._

"_Now?" Was all Melanie managed to squeak, but her eyes already were coming to acceptance. _

_My head nodded._

"_Where are you going?" Melanie questioned._

_I shrugged. "Away."_

"_You have to have an idea, Jo..." Melanie whispered._

"_I was thinking of moving to Ustio. Stay at Uncle James's for a bit..."_

_Ustio or, as it still remained in my heart, South Belka had been where our Uncle James lived. We spent countless summers there up until Ustio's separation from Belka. Once it became an independent state, my father refused to visit the place due to his own political selfishness. Besides, I doubted that Ustio would welcome a Belkan politician into their borders._

"_Go," Melanie said. "Write to me when you get to Uncle James's, and let me know where you are going from there."_

"_Okay."_

"_Promise, Joni. I know you need to get away, but please keep in touch."_

_Looking into Melanie's eyes, I noticed the ghosts of tears there. Although she was the more feminine of us, Melanie had a never-say-die attitude. And, here and now, I saw the faint traces of the tender, loving sister she actually was. I grabbed her into my arms, holding her against me. Both of us trembled with tears, remaining silent as we embraced._

_Pulling away, finally, I looked into her eyes. "I promise."_

"_Just keep following your dreams. Give them hell."_

_I smiled and repeated," I promise."_

* * *

I had ran away from an abusive father.

Demitri Brandt was a dynamic Belkan politician. His father had turned a politician after serving time in the Royal Belka Air Force, and his mother was the daughter of a heavily-influential politician during Belka's expansion era in the mid-1900s. He was everything a politician looked - cool-headed, poised and charismatic. But behind closed-doors, he was a monster.

You'd never think a Belkan socialite would be so violent. During the day, he wore a suit and left the house with his briefcase. He was poised, polite, everything a politician needed to be. But behind closed doors, he was demonic. Intolerable. How the hell he disguised the demon within him was perplexing. How did his coworkers and the public not see this side of him?

We clashed throughout my high school career. Once dad had started changing, I met him with opposition and anger. Nothing I did was good enough, and every step I took was a mistake. Although I feared his outrages, I still tested his limits. And each limit tested was met with harsh words and punishment.

Mom never did anything. Melanie would defend me, but only at a safe distance vocally. Yet, despite how much pain and fear I went through, I still rebelled. You couldn't lock me up. I was fire, and throwing more fire at me only made things worse.

But that night had been my breaking point.

_You'll never make it as a pilot. You're too weak, and too easily defeated._

That's what he said. Those words still made my body weep. I could deal with his physical blows - the agony of those vanished. But words clawed into my mind. Those wounds were harder to cope with.

And to take my dreams and dash them like that, not even offering a word of support, I had had enough.

That night, I had punched my father at the dinner table. That night, he had return the hit. While the family packed up dinner, I sat in my room, flinging things into suitcases and plotting my flight from this prison. That night, I had defied his law. I would leave this dreaded place. I would become exactly what he said I couldn't be. And, for the first time, I broke free.

I went to Ustio to stay with my uncle.

"You didn't think I'd get this far, huh?" I whispered into the morning. My body felt warm with the fire burning within me. "Well, fuck you, dad. If only you could see me now."

_You'll never make it as a pilot. You're too weak, and too easily defeated._

He was wrong. Dead wrong.

And so was Foulke.

I wasn't looking for honor or affirmation or a big certificate of approval from the government and my family. I was looking for an escape. I was looking to prove all those doubters wrong. I was chasing my dreams, however off-course and broken I was, I would find my way to tear up the skies. I would. I would. I would.

_But have you really defeated dad? If he still haunts you, maybe he's still winning,_ my mind whispered. I bit my lower lip, deciding that that was enough thinking for now. Unfolding my legs, I began to journey back to my room. Maybe I'd sneak a quick nap underneath the warmth of my sheets before going to grab breakfast.

I'll just have to show them.

_Ahhh. Okay, I hope that answered some things. Not everything, because next chapter will be another monumental chapter that delves into more about Joni, and you'll be getting quite a bit about Pixy, too. And trust me, more info on Joni and her father will be coming!_


	4. Chapter 4: Q & A

Chapter Four: Q & A

That morning didn't seem promising.

Reportedly, seven inches of snow had been dumped on Valais Air Base, leaving our airstrip blanketed in white and our base command in a shitty mood. The government, despite the factors, demanded that Valais still scramble one squadron for a routine border scan along Belka. The runaway could be plowed, indeed, but no one wanted to take flight only to return to more snow showers. The weather, for the lack of a better term, sucked.

At 900 hours, all available pilots congregated. Everyone was muttering their lack of appreciation for the fact that base command didn't stand their ground against the higher command bigwigs, but everyone knew they didn't have much of a choice. What was one missed day, though? Surely our "enemy" wouldn't be doing much on this dreary, stormy day, either. Unless they were insane out of their minds, they'd be hunkered down, waiting for better weather to do a whole lot of nothing.

That was another problem. Since the little conniption back in December, there had been silence along the border with Belka. No tension, minus the political ruckus within the capital of Belka, was physical visible. Nothing military seemed to be going on, people reported. But Ustio was on edge, hackles raised and teeth barred. There was no hostility. The past situation was still shrouded in a fog of mystery, but it left a lot of questions of whether or not it was _really_ an indicator of unrest within Belka.

Maybe, in fact, there was no potential threat from Belka.

But, then again, maybe this was Belka's ideals. I wouldn't hold it against those cunning bastards to take a dip at some sort of guerilla warfare. Strike once, just to put Ustio on edge, but then withdraw until they got exhausted with being tense. Then the real attack would hurt.

Nonetheless, base command wasn't going to raise a riot, and while everyone made grumblings, no one out-right protested it. Besides, the loss of Booth still bore fresh in their minds. Extra security wasn't completely idiotic.

Colonel Campbell was the one that addressed us. The aged pilot looked at us, his eyes scanning over the fresh batch of rookies who were already finding themselves a spot amongst the Valais hierarchy.

"Alright, I know no one is keen on going up today, but I need two of you to plunge your hands into the dirt," Campbell addressed. Continuing, he said, "Since it's hell out there, base command graciously decided that we'll take a volunteer basis. Any takers?"

There was a hush that elapsed throughout the room. No one _really_ wanted to take up the task. It wasn't the worst case duty, but it was a burden.

Someone raised a hand and nodded. I recognized my good enemy, Foulke. "I will," he spoke with a slight tone of annoyance.

"Alright, Solo Wing. One down, anybody else?" No response. "Don't make me be the bad guy and hand pick someone, guys."

Brindle gazed over at Foulke, her eyes softening. There was a wave of emotion that she carried in her eyes. Turning back to me, she said, "He throws himself into work. I think he's trying to brush off Booth's death. He blames himself. And he's upset how quickly the government shrugged their shoulders at the loss of a mere mercenary."

Narrowing my eyebrows, I, too, gazed at Foulke in a new light. The words he said yesterday, although uncalled for, were spoken from a man fueled with unsaid grief and frustration. Although it was his task to tame his emotions, perhaps I had judged him too quickly. Just as he didn't know my story, I was hardly aware of his. I was just as wrong to deem him an intolerable asshole as he was to dub me a rich-kid, academy brat.

Although most of my pitted anger against Foulke still remained, I decided I couldn't hate him without knowing his story. And so, despite the churning in my gut, I raised my hand to Colonel Campbell's request.

"I'll go," I spoke in a casual, I-could-care-less voice.

Heads whipped around to see who had responded. Once people recognized me, the mutterings started.

"Crazy newbie."

"She's just trying to impress base command."

"Or maybe she's trying to get some alone time with Solo Wing," someone snorted, causing several to snicker.

Brindle elbowed me, shaking her head. "You're insane."

I gave a nonchalant shrug, trying to act as if this was another day at the office. Indeed, the task was simple, but joining Foulke was no easy weight to carry.

"Alright," Campbell said with a content nod. "The rest of you are dismissed. Foulke and..."

He didn't know my name.

"Burghardt," I told him.

He smiled slightly. "Burghardt..." He tested the new name. "You two come forward."

The pilots all began to stand up and maneuver out of the room. Many were making plans for the remainder of the day, challenging one another to poker games or offering their contention in a few rounds of pool. I ignored the gazes I received as I pushed my way forward, my eyes rested on Campbell.

McLellan stopped me along my path to the front of the room, grabbing my shoulders and giving me a pat. "Good luck," he told me, a tone of sarcasm on his voice.

"Thanks," I replied dryly. I needed the luck.

Filing to the front of the room, I stood beside Foulke. His body was rigid at my presence, and I felt the heat of his gaze as he glared at me for a mere moment before turning attention to Colonel Campbell.

"Alright, guys. Simple border scan; you two take off at 1300 hours," Campbell explained, his voice dull.

"Sir..." I started, nervously shifting. "What will I be flying?"

Campbell gazed at me, realizing suddenly that none of the newbies had been assigned actual craft. That was the little problem in allowing one of the newbies to take flight in a border scan today. We had just been shuffled onto the base and allowed a day to adjust, and then today hadn't gone to plan thanks to the weather. There was no order for us.

"Uh..." Campbell frowned. He looked at Foulke and narrowed his brow. "You'll take the F-15."

"You mean...?" Foulke uttered, his face darkening.

"Yes, Solo Wing. Booth's extra."

My heart sank. It wasn't as if Foulke had a problem already with me, but now I was being assigned to the plane of his former wingman. He already harbored ill feelings against me! It was as if base command was single-handedly giving Foulke all the right reasons to hate me.

I bit my lip, nodding. "Thank you, sir."

That was all I could say through the massive amounts of cold dread pumping through my veins. My body was going numb now, and I wanted to shrivel up and go hide in my room. I was a fool for volunteering. I knew this was going to be hell.

"Foulke, why don't you show Burghardt the craft? You two will meet back here at 1215 hours for formal briefing. Dismissed."

As Campbell exited, my shoulders slumped and I released a quiet sigh. My eyes took a dare, turning towards Foulke who was gazing at me with contempt. I expected him to go off again, but instead he just shook his head.

"Well, you heard his orders," his voice broke. "Let's go see your craft."

Following Foulke out of the room and to the exit door was eerily silent. Once we were outside, the only sound was the howling of wind in my ears. Foulke traveled along with his shoulders thrust back, and his head straight forward. He hardly acknowledged my presence, but instead high-stepped over the heaps of snow with little precaution. I stumbled along courageously, anticipating the next set of insults he had for me.

It was the third hangar from the base that we went to. Opening the door, Foulke didn't bother to hold it open for me and I caught it just before the wind slammed it shut on my fingers. Inwardly, I grumbled, but I tried not to show my irritation for Foulke's lack of manners.

"That's it." Foulke pointed at the beautiful aircraft sitting docilely in the front of the hangar. It was an F-15 Eagle. It was silver with blue wings, and the insignias painted about. By far, it was better than anything I had flown at the academy. My heart nearly raced at the sight of it. The machine was beautiful.

Behind it was an identical F-15, but this one was different. One of the wings was red. The right one. Brindle had told me the story of Foulke's mishap during the scuffle with the unknown aircraft back in December. The wing had been taken off completely, but Foulke had nursed his F-15 home that day and survived to tell the tale. That was why everyone called him "Solo Wing" now, and he had gotten a personalized scheme on his new craft.

Both were nice aircrafts. The inner aviation nerd within me was freaking.

Foulke caught my dreamy stare, and I suddenly saw what was going to happen. There was a look of resentment on his face, and it twisted into bitter rage.

"I don't know why they'd throw a newbie into it," Foulke coughed. "It's not like you've done anything to deserve it."

My jaw dropped at his bitter words, and I immediately felt my anger swell. There was a spark within me that flared, and my hands curled up into fists. I wasn't going to take this anymore.

"What the hell is your problem?" I snarled, stepping towards him.

He looked a bit stunned by my reaction, although a bit pleased at the same time.

"My problem?"

"Don't play stupid with me," I hissed. "You have a problem with me. And I'm not going to take that 'oh, poor, poor Larry Foulke, he lost his wingman in a dogfight' shit. That's a pisspoor excuse for your attitude."

Wrong thing to say. Very much the wrong thing to say. And once the words left my tongue, I immediately regretted saying them. You don't take a traumatic experience and shove it into someone's face.

"Look here, _rookie,_ you don't know shit about being a mercenary. You don't know what hell you're going to have to deal with. And if this damned country actually goes to war like they're predicting, you're going to be crippled by all the hell that's going to be shoved right up your arrogant, prissy ass," Foulke snarled fiercely, stepping close so that he towered above me. Despite the height difference, I didn't shrink back. I stayed right where I was grounded, glaring back at my aggressor with a clenched jaw and blazing eyes.

My fingernails dug into my palms.

"I know it's more than this. It's more than the fact that Booth died, and the fact that the government tossed a rug over it," I responded quietly, my voice no more than a hiss. "You're not the person to get caught up in grief like that."

"You don't know me."

"And yet, you somehow know me enough to pass judgement on me and treat me like shit."

Foulke backed away, taking a few paces towards the F-15 and placing a hand on the landing gear. I almost felt a pang of remorse for the words I had said to him, but they were just as lethal as what he had spat at me the night before. If I had to be a bitch to get answers, then be a bitch I will. But no one walks across me like that. Not anymore. The child that hardly defended herself against her father was now a fighter, and no one hit me without retaliation.

I wasn't done. He had more explaining to do, and I wasn't relenting until the answers were out on the table.

"Tell me what bone you have to pick with me."

He didn't respond immediately, and just as I opened my mouth to prod again, he spoke up in a clear, strong voice.

"You aren't who you say you are."

"What do you mean?" I haughtily snapped.

He gazed into my eyes, his face tense.

Then he spoke.

"Brandt."

I winced. The word seemed to echo throughout the hangar, ringing torturously in my ears. My stomach nearly plummeted into my feet, and my pulse quickened. I hadn't heard my name in years. My _real_ name. Ever since I had moved to Ustio and taken up my uncle's name, I had swept the real existence under the carpet. In a way, by detaching myself from it, I removed my attachment to my father and the hell I experienced back at home. I had attempted to erase my past.

Of course, it hadn't worked very well. You can't really erase past memories, and people had proven to me that my background was impossible to keep secret.

My face felt flushed of all color. Drawing a deep, unsteady breath, I tried to shake off all the anxiety that had rushed against me.

Foulke turned, glance at me. There was a ghost of a smirk on his face, but also a look of anticipation as he awaited my response.

"H-how do you know?" I implored.

He crossed his arms. "I should almost feel insulted," he quipped. Was this such time for humor? I hated him for being this way. He held a secret, yet he was nearly treating it as a joke. "We've met before...years ago..."

A chill ran down my back. I racked my brains, looking at the fine characteristics of Foulke's face. So much had happened in the last few years, it was easy to forget a single introduction. My father was a socialite, and I had been dragged along to many social gatherings in my lifetime. What politician didn't want to show off his lovely wife and three delightful children? I had met the bigwigs of Belka, and even the surrounding countries such as Osea and Sapin. Yet, somehow he had remembered me, but I hadn't remembered him.

"Lucas Foulke ring a bell?"

That's when the gears clicked, and I felt stupid for not realizing it.

Lucas Foulke was a main supporter of the Ustian separation in the late 80s. He had led the party that fought for the succession of Ustio, and was blacklisted from Belka territory. Before the succession, he had actually been a close "friend" of my father's. Of course, all that ended when Ustio succeeded and the peoples of the "A Separate Republic" movement were declared enemies of Belka.

I remembered the vehemence my father pitted against Lucas Foulke. The nights prior to Ustio's full succession, there had been rage at the dinner table. One night, my father even broke a plate, cursing "the damned separatists" before storming off outside.

With a last name like Foulke, I couldn't believe that I had not linked Larry to this man.

"Are you...?" I trailed off.

"His son."

I chewed my lip. My mind stepped back into the ghosts of my memory, raking away at the days I spent in Belka. It had to be nearly eight or nine years ago. My father had a dinner party to raise money for his campaign back in 1987 as he ran, once again, for election in the Belkan cabinet. I could recall my father introducing Lucas Foulke, and his petite wife and Air-Force-uniform-donning son, to my siblings and I.

That son had been Larry.

My jaw dropped slightly, and I couldn't find the words to respond.

Finally, I shook my head. "Why are you _here_?"

That seemed to be a sore subject.

Foulke's jaw tightened, and he turned his back once more to me. Releasing a heavy exhale, Foulke gazed off into the depths of the hangar, perhaps taking in the metallic beauty of his craft deep within. I stood patiently, still shaking slightly.

"The son of the politician that headed the separation of the southern state doesn't belong in the country's proud Air Force. A week after Ustio separated, I was politely discharged and asked to get the hell out of Belka," Foulke finally explained with a touch of coldness. "As in politely, I mean they basically implied to get the fuck out or be arrested."

My eyes dropped. "Oh..."

"So, I moved here, decided to become a mercenary and made a living out of it."

"You could've easily joined Ustio's Air Force."

Foulke shrugged. "After the Belkan Air Force, I didn't feel up to it. Not worth the commitment, if you ask me."

There was a sense of bitterness conveyed in Foulke's tone, and I decided I wasn't going to press any longer. A silence lingered between us, and I reveled in it, trying to recover from the tsunami of information and revelation that had just occurred. My pulse was starting to calm itself, but I couldn't shake the churning of my stomach. I reached up and pulled my hair away from my face, a nervous habit of mine, releasing another heavy sigh. This wasn't what I had bargained for here at Valais.

"So, fair is fair, why are you here, Brandt?" Foulke quizzed. He had his back propped up against the landing gear. Going from rigid to nonchalant, perhaps he was calming himself by turning the tables towards me.

I reached up and scratched my head. "Just running away from my past. I tried that at the academy, but someone entitled themselves to muck raking, and to bargain for my secrets, I left."

"And now you're here at rock bottom with the rest of us dogs?"

"Basically," I murmured. "So...why'd you treat me like you did yesterday?"

That was a good question, and Foulke knew it. He pulled his shoulders back, as though to ponder the question, and cocked his head thoughtfully. Finally, he responded, "You're Brandt's daughter. I guess I harbored my anger at Belka by your association with him."

That didn't completely justify the means, but I wasn't going to go grave digging for it.

I frowned then. "I don't want to associate myself with that man."

"Your change of name seemed to explain it."

Eyes downcast, I took in all that had just happened. Once again, the crippling anxiety of the fact that someone had shaken up my past was rushing through my veins, but I wasn't in peril as I had been back in Directus. Foulke wasn't malicious enough to go and make this ordeal a public disarray. Instead, Foulke seemed semi-understanding of my reasoning to running away from my past. And although he didn't show it, I knew he felt the mutual understanding.

Foulke and I were outcasts of Belka. I had voluntarily left, while he had been pushed away. All in all, we weren't welcome there. And so we became two misfit mercenaries trying to find a place, any place, in this damned world.

"Let's look at it this way, then," Foulke finally broke, "we both have a past we don't care to deal with. So let's just leave it where it is, and move on."

"Is this a peace offering after the shit I had to put up with yesterday?" I questioned with a touch of hostility. I wasn't going to just forget it.

Foulke smirked. "Ah, if you're expecting an apology..."

"I wouldn't expect anything from you," I responded quickly.

"Then, sure, if you think it's a peace offering, go ahead and take it."

That much was good enough for me.

The remainder of the day was oddly peaceful. Our border scan went about flawlessly, and the bickering between Foulke and I had ceased. I didn't expect this as a sudden friendship, but now Foulke and I had reached an understanding. We both understood the struggle in trying to find a place in the world, even after having everything ripped away from you. And although we hadn't found our reason yet, one day we would. Whether it be on this battlefield or not.

And, secretly, I feared that my purpose was non-existent.

_Well, here it is. A big chapter full of information. I almost have a headache after writing this. To be honest, I wanted to incorporate more but I felt like I could hold back on some of the information and put it into different chapters/situations. But, there you have it. The big revelation! There's still a lot more meat to both Pixy and Joni, trust me, but now you have the basic structure for this story. The next few chapters we'll be getting into the swing of the war! Can I get a whoop whoop?_


	5. Chapter 5: Discarded and Displaced

_You can thank my downed Internet for giving me time and concentration to write a majority of this chapter. I usually get horribly distracted. And, once again, to all you reviewing, you make me blush sometimes. Thanks for the compliments, it really motivates me to write! :)  
_

**Chapter Five: **Discarded and Displaced

March 1, 1995

Life at Valais Air Base sunk into a steady routine after the first week or so. I felt at ease, for the first time since my issues at the academy, and I slipped myself in the monotone lifestyle here. I participated in the border scans whenever assigned, but each and every day our squadrons went out, there was little, if anything, to report. Each day drove the doubts further, and the pilots began to rumble more.

I avoided outwardly protesting it. It was a job and money. And, actually, I secretly enjoyed taking off in the F-15 Eagle and being able to soar the skies for a while. It was better than lounging around the base, listless and with no productivity.

McLellan and Brindle were easily my friends on base. Foulke was no longer pitted against me, but he didn't outright seek to befriend me. Actually, he wasn't buddy-buddy with anyone entirely. I know Brindle forced her care on him, and he grudgingly accepted her friendship, but Foulke was quite the lone wolf. He indulged himself in flying, and, otherwise, kept to himself. He was an enigma.

February went by quickly, and I lay awake in bed as my bedside clock went from 11:59 to 12:00, declaring the new existence of March. I had gone to bed over two hours ago, and the ability to slip into slumber was not possessed by me that night. I tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable spot and unwillingly becoming the victim of the own thoughts in my head. I hated nights. It was too easy to become the villain of yourself, and to become bombarded by the demons that exhausted your mentality.

I remember drifting in and out of consciousness that night after midnight. Each time I felt sleep coming upon me, my mind would suddenly shake itself awake with a dreadful thought. Worrying about my sister, or about the things that happened at the academy, or even replaying distant horrors of living with my father, all these things managed to disrupt my sleep. I desperately tried to shovel them away, but they clung like leeches to my mind. God, I hated myself right now. I just wanted to sleep.

It was early when I gave up. I wasn't going to get a sufficient amount of sleep tonight, and just laying in bed would mean I'd be subject to these horrible thoughts.

Slipping my feet onto the floor, I up righted my torso and drew in a deep breath. My lungs stung with protest at the inhalation of the sharp, cold air. The heating in the women's wing was hit or miss. Some nights it was blazing hot, and I spent half the night sweating and tossing blankets off of myself. Other nights it hardly existed, and I was burrowing myself deep under the sheets and still shuttering. There never was a happy medium here.

Wiping the exhaustion from my eyes, I stepped through the darkness and found the doorknob of my door. I had memorized every creak and crack in my room, as well as the trip down the hall into the lounge. My door, at a certain degree, gave a soft whine and it gave a soft thud when I closed it. About five steps down the hall, there was a loose board but I could avoid it if I stepped along the floorboards of the hall.

I smiled at my observations, opening the door to the lounge and slipping into the warmth of the room. This place was home. I was wary of accepting it as such, since I had been here only a short length of time, and because of my track record of being displaced from my "homes." But something about Valais felt different. This place was my little paradise in the middle of nowhere.

The lounge chair next to the window had become my place for thought. Late at night, I'd slip out and plop down, maybe wrap myself in a blanket and just stare out the window. Most nights, it was still snowing, and other nights I could see the crystal-clarity of the night sky twinkling above the Tyrann Mountains. This place was a breathless wonderland for someone who had spent the last three and a half years in the city lights of Directus.

Criss-crossing myself in the chair, I comfortably gazed out the broad window. Tonight was a clear night. The dark blue-black sky was filled with dozens upon dozens of tiny, white stars, and a half-moon had situated itself amongst them. My eyes traced the immense silhouettes of the mountains, scanning down to the air strip. The precipitation had let up for a few days, and the air strip remained relatively clear of snow. Eventually, I had been told, the snow would melt, although that wouldn't occur until mid to late April.

For a while, I sat silently in the chair. Maybe thirty to forty minutes had passed before I reached into the pocket of my pajamas and withdrew the folded pieces of paper. I flicked on the lamp on the side table, allowing the light to flood into the dark corner of the room. I unfolded the paper, gazing at the scrawling of my little sister, Melanie.

Melanie was nineteen now and attending the University of Dinsmark. I hadn't seen her in over a year, when I last took a train to Dinsmark to see her and mom. Our meeting had been private, since my father outright ignored my existence and protested any contact my family attempted to hold with me. In a way, I had also detached myself from them. I was too much of a burden for Melanie and my mother, anyway, with my father against them seeing me.

She kept writing, though. My father could not monitor the mail that went to her university post office box. Each and every letter seemed to end the same; she would always say "_follow your dreams_." And although I told her I was, sometimes I questioned if I had truly found my purpose in this damned world yet.

The last letter was dated from mid-February, and it was the first letter I had received from her since I had moved from Directus.

_February 16__th__, 1995_

_Dear Joni,_

_I'm not going to beg for answers, although everyone is curious as to why you are no longer in Directus. But, if you believe you are doing the right thing, I had no room to protest._

_Wrapping up my third term at the university has been a lot of work. Especially with the heat now rising here in Dinsmark, there is a lot of talk going about and discussions in classes are turning into political debates. It wasn't as if I have to hear about this anytime I'm home. There's a lot of unrest here. And I don't know how it will impact the future, but be careful, Joni. A fire is rising, and you know very well that our father is right behind it. And if any of his collaborators are equally as ambitious, there's a lot of trouble around the corner. Everyone knows Belka is done sitting in the corner, weeping over its losses._

_I don't know if I'll be able to send another letter in the future. It simply depends if this fire ignites or not. But just know that I love you, big sister. And so does mom and Mark. Please fly safely. I don't know what the future brings for our family, but hopefully I can see you soon._

_Follow your dreams._

_Love,_

_Melanie_

I had read that letter a dozen times over, each time my stomach turning with cold dread. Though I wasn't much for tears, I could feel the ghosts of them burning in my eyes as I folded the paper back up and stuffed it into my pocket. My heart was palpitating wildly, and I leaned my forehead into my folded knees.

War was coming. And although I had tried to convince myself with the lack of activity around Belka's borders during our scans, it had all been in a vain attempt to calm my nerves. Belka had been wallowing on its injured pride for far too long, and they were ravenous to reclaim their former glory. How exactly they would go about this, I was unsure. But Ustio was not safe. Belka had taken a huge blow to its ego after Fato separated and formed, and then Ustio had really crippled it. They wanted these lands back.

And I was flying for Belka's enemy. I was now a pending enemy of the Royal Belkan Knights. An enemy of my father. The thought made my blood freeze.

A door opened across the room, and I quickly raised my head. It was rare for anyone to be up and about in these obscene hours of the morning. I hadn't actually encountered anybody here in the lounge at night, until now.

The silhouette of one of the guys stood in the doorframe. I knew they immediately focused on me, sitting in the dimly-lit corner. Stepping forward into the light, I recognized Foulke. His face was long with gaunt exhaustion, and I knew he was equally plagued by some sort of late-night thinking that I was.

"What are you doing up?" his rough voice grumbled.

I blinked. "I could ask you the same," I retorted.

He huffed.

"I was just…thinking…" I finally responded.

"Yeah?"

Foulke took a seat in the chair adjacent from mine, his eyes falling to the world outside of the window. I too looked outside, observing the night hours slip away. The moon was already sinking into the west, and dawn would be fast approaching at it disappeared behind the mountainous structures.

"For such a desolate place, it's beautiful," I commented softly.

Foulke slowly nodded, his eyes never leaving outside. "It is home."

Home. For many, home was a house somewhere else in Ustio. Home was where their significant other (whether that be merely a girlfriend or boyfriend, or actually a husband or wife) was. Home was where the family still lived. Valais was a temporary home, just a place they were staying while they made their wages for that said family back at home. But to people, to mercenaries such as Foulke or I, we couldn't have the luxury of a warm, friendly home like that. Home was where the money was.

I considered it, nodding in agreement to Foulke's statement. Gazing out the window, I took in the fine, night details of "home." My mind wandered, and I smiled softly.

"When I was younger, my family used to taking skiing trips at a resort not far from the old Glatisant ruins," I suddenly started. A rush of nostalgia had overcome me. "One day, we were skiing and I got lost down the wrong path. Eventually I ended up tripping over a tree branch, and fell down the hill. When I came to a stop, I was just laying, facing up at the sky. I laid there a long time, appreciating the sky. That's when I decided I wanted to fly. I wanted to be up there. Up in that endless sea of sky."

I heard Foulke chuckle softly, his eyes turning towards me. "Cute story," he commented with a dry tone.

"Why'd you start flying?" I poked.

"It runs in my blood," Foulke replied. "My grandfather and father were both pilots. At first, it became something I wanted because it was expected, but eventually I picked it up as my own. It's just been something I enjoyed."

"Why didn't you continue with Ustio's Air Force?" I prompted.

There was a lull of silence at Foulke considered my question. I had figured that being part of the Belkan Air Force had been his dream, and when he was abruptly removed and pushed away, it had to have been difficult and discouraging. Those factors could make for a sensitive subject.

"I wanted to be a Belkan Knight for so long. Just like grandpa and dad." He scrunched his eyebrows together. "Hell, I was willing to denounce my father if it meant that I could continue on with the Belkan Air Force. But no matter how hard I implored them to allow me to stay, they wanted me gone," Foulke explained with a sharpness in his voice. I could see the flicker of hurt in his eyes as he explained a situation that had happened seven years ago. The time in which Larry Foulke had been denied the only thing he ever wanted. "When that happened, I was pissed. For a short while, I wanted nothing to do with flying...but then I decided wallowing about in my own sorrows wasn't going to do me any good. I'd go back to doing what I enjoyed-flying-but I wasn't wasting my time devoting myself to a big cause like the air force and it's country. I'll go wherever I can, and get paid for it. Whether it be Ustio or Osea or Verusa or Estovakia. I'll do what I want."

He had his heart broken by the Belkan Air Force. Although he wouldn't admit the amount of pain he was subjected from his discharge, Foulke was an injured soldier. So he flew with the ambitions to forget his past endeavors. He flew because he could.

"Enough about me. What's your big secret about leaving the academy?"

I gulped. Whenever anybody asked the question as to why I left the academy, I always shrugged and muttered that I wasn't fitting in right. The answer was weak and absurd, since I was a top-notch pilot of my class and three years in. But muttering my answer and looking dejected always stopped everyone from probing any further, and I got away quickly. I didn't want to talk about the truth, and, in a way, I was trying to forget it myself.

It seemed that every problem in my life linked back to my past. I could run far and hard from it, but it kept up. It was always demanding my attention.

"You know, I have bad blood. No one will want the daughter of Belkan radical Demitri Brandt flying in their Air Force," I explained, exhaling heavily. "But, if I'm a mercenary, no one is going to dig up dirt on a mere mercenary. They won't look past my new name. They'll just give me a job and hand me a paycheck."

"But you made it three and a half years no problem."

"Under my uncle's last name."

"Who found out your real lineage?"

"You could call them my rivals," I replied, frowning. "Competition is stiff for those vying for top honors. Who doesn't want to be the best? And when beating me in the classroom and skies wasn't much of an option, some of my fellow pilots went grave digging for something against me."

"They found out?"

"Someone raided my room, and found my letters from home. They did a bit of research, and, lo and behold, Joanna Burghardt is actually Joanna Brandt, the daughter of Belka's scum-bag Demitri Brandt." There was a ripple of anger that went through me. How vicious and rude my fellow pilots had been, driven madly by the desire to out beat me. What they had done had struck me low. They gave me two options: leave or be exposed. And although there wasn't the guarantee that I'd be asked to leave the academy, the daunting feeling that my reputation, based off of my lineage, could be shattered, was enough to drive me away.

Foulke's face hardened as he asked,"You were blackmailed?"

I nodded. "Essentially."

"You didn't fight back?" He looked stunned. "There's no guarantee you'd be discharged, hell, with credentials like yours, you didn't have to worry too much."

"But then I'd be Demitri Brandt's daughter again, regardless of the outcome. And I just want to run away from that..." I felt a tightness in my throat. "I just want peace."

Foulke was silent after that. We both had furthered our understanding of one another. Rather than exchange sympathies, though, we let it sink in. We both understood our derivatives of the status of being a misfit, an outcast from the rest. We were slightly different than the other mercenaries, though. Instead of just making it a job, we were trying to replace the void in ourselves left by events we couldn't control. Being a mercenary was the final option for both of us, before we would have to give up the dream of flying.

I wondered if Foulke still struggled with the concept. Did he secretly yearn to go back to the Belkan Air Force days? I knew that, secretly, my heart stung from leaving the academy. I had gone from a high-acclaimed pilot, credited to honor and pride, to an essential nobody. Did Foulke just get over that? Maybe time had soothed his wounds, but at the same time, had that been pain in his eyes when he had told me his story?

I didn't ask, though. It was my duty to figure out myself. And whether that take a month or a year or a decade, I would stand alone in doing so.

"If you're a misfit, you'll get your peace."

I gave a weak smile, hugging my knees to my chest. "That's all I want. Just let me fly, and let me be, and I'm golden."

"Exactly."

Exhaustion was pull at my body now, and it was to my best advising to go back to bed and try to log at least an hour or two of sleep before the day began. Bringing up my past had been emotional tolling too, and I just wanted to curl up now.

"I'm going back to bed..." I yawned.

Foulke nodded. "You'll need a lot of energy to do a whole lot of nothing tomorrow."

My exhausted eyes blinked. "That'll be changing..."

"Why do you say that?"

"A storm is coming..." I responded tiredly. "The unrest in Belka is no longer political means, but has reached it's civilians. Pride is a national matter, and everyone wants to see Belka in it's former glory."

Tension filled the air as Foulke looked out the window with a tight jaw. Deciding I couldn't spend another minute out of bed, I turned and began to walk towards the women's wing with dragging feet.

I heard Foulke's voice call out to me. "How do you feel about fighting against Belka?"

I turned towards him, face emotionless.

"I don't care."


End file.
